


a lie made in rainbow-hued glass

by uptillthree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prostitution, canon compliant if u try hard enough, hijinks and slaver-hunting, unconventional fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-12-24 19:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptillthree/pseuds/uptillthree
Summary: “What’s your name?”“Sapphire,” Nicaise lied.A gloved finger dug into his pulse point, a low growl in his ear. “Try to pick my pockets again, Sapphire, and you’ll find a bullet in your throat.”More than a year after the Regent is executed for treason, Nicaise is still paying off his indenture, shipped someplace where no one who knows him will ever find him, not that anyone would ever care to try. Desperate and careless, he stumbles into the path of the deadliest criminal in the Barrel.





	1. the slight was not deliberate

**Author's Note:**

> so.... this happened
> 
> can't guarantee regular updates, but will try to update at least twice a month and finish this eventually, at least! chapters will likely be fairly short! this has been in my drafts forever as 'crossover no one asked for' and i'm sorry!
> 
> also, note: nicaise is 15 here, almost 16. trigger warnings for off-screen/implied abuse. and this is set a few months after soc canon, and a little over a year after capri canon :>

When it came down to it, Nicaise had to admit that the entire mess he’d gotten into was his own damn fault. 

He’d been lingering on the ports, watching people pass by. The plague had made people make themselves scarce even months after, both on the streets and at the House. Adrastus had been irritated by it. 

Nicaise hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He’d already copped a couple hundred kruge from some unlucky strangers— one of the ship captains and a pair of businessmen, by the looks of them. That should have been enough. It would have already bought him and even a few of the others at the House an extra meal, if he’d wanted to. He could’ve even given it to Adrastus, if he wanted to be foolish and hopeful and stupid. 

Nicaise should have headed back to the House. It should have been enough. 

It hadn’t been. It never was.

They’d caught his eye at the far end of the road, almost out of sight. When he moved closer to tail them, he realized it was two people walking together. The man was likely old: He was wearing an old-fashioned hat and holding onto a cane, the limp in his step only visible if you looked very hard for it. The woman beside him was surely younger; she was short, wearing a hood over her head, covered from head to toe.

Even from Nicaise’s vantage point, their clothes looked expensive. He walked behind them, waiting for as close to a crowd as he could get. 

When there were enough people that Nicaise could easily become unrecognizable in a sea of faces, he moved to pass them, bumping into them subtly as though he were a street boy in a rush, a hand darting out, touch light as a magician’s hands. “Scuse me!”

He’d been perfectly right. The pouch in the man’s back pocket, half-hidden beneath his coat, was thick. Not even heavy with coins, but thick with bills. Nicaise reminded himself not to walk too fast. He shoved it into his own coat and took the next turn into a narrow alleyway, relieved and already riding the high of his own success.

That had been his first fucking mistake.

It meant no one noticed or made a fuss when someone slammed him into the dirty wall, a hand gripping his throat. Nicaise opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t even take in air to breathe. Panic locked down all of his systems, leaving him frozen. Then he met the eyes of the man pinning him against the wall and thought, _ Fuck _.

It had not been some hobbling old man with his daughter, Nicaise realized, gaze darting to the crow-headed cane, feeling the gloved hand around his throat. This was Dirtyhands of the Dregs with his Wraith.

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _

_ “He _ snuck up on you?” the Wraith said, half in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Nicaise gasped out, hands flailing, not daring to scrabble at the hands blocking his airway. _ Dirtyhands touches you, you’re as good as dead. He only wears gloves because the blood on his hands won’t wash off anymore. _“Shit, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He dug into his coat for the money pouch and threw it far to the left, hoping to distract him enough to get away. Dirtyhands didn’t even take his eyes off him. Spots were darkening his vision, his feet almost lifting off the ground. Nicaise shut his watering eyes. 

The Wraith picked the pouch up, looking through it. “There’s fifty kruge in here,” she said. “Was that all you were carrying?” 

“Mm.”

“Kaz. He’s young.”

“And?”

“And no one’s got the drop on you like that since Van Eck had you kidnapped to give you the Ice Court job.”

The grip around Nicaise’s throat loosened. “Van Eck was using Grisha on parem, and that’s the only reason he succeeded.”

“Then this boy’s the first. All the better.”

As suddenly as the ambush, Dirtyhands let him go. Eyes flying open, Nicaise tried not to gasp in air too conspicuously, massaging his throat. 

Dirtyhands cut the Wraith a dark look. _ “You _were the first.” 

A smile was playing at her lips. “Good thing, too.”

“This one got lucky.”

“Some damn good luck that must be.”

Dirtyhands turned away, sending Nicaise a considering look. He stepped back, his cane doing a little _ tap-tap _of finality on the street. “We’ll see you in the Barrel at dusk. Ask for Kaz Brekker.”

_ Be there or the Dregs will come after you, _went unsaid. Nicaise wasn’t stupid, though he had been. “Yes, sir.”

Brekker tilted his head, looking mildly amused. “What’s your name?”

“Sapphire,” Nicaise said. It was his name from the house. He wasn’t going to tell Dirtyhands his real name, even though it wouldn’t have mattered. It was hardly a name anyone from here would recognize.

Brekker didn’t look like he believed it, but he didn’t argue. Before Nicaise could scramble away he’d taken hold of Nicaise’s collar, slamming him into the wall again, a gloved finger digging into his pulse point. “Try to pick my pockets again, Sapphire,” he snarled, a low growl in his ear, “And you’ll find a bullet in your throat.”

“Of all the people you had to steal from, it had to be _ Brekker?” _

Nicaise crossed his arms. “I didn’t _ know _it was Brekker, okay? I didn’t see his face— fuck’s sake, I thought it was some old man, he had a cane!”

Kallias blew out a frustrated breath and pressed his hands to his face. “You’re screwed. You’re well and truly fucked, Nic.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Nicaise grumbled.

“What are you going to do?” Kallias asked. “You’re not actually going to _ go?” _

“It’s not like I have much choice in it, do I?”

“It’s not safe. There must be some other way to get the Dregs off your back.” Kallias stood up and started pacing, restless. The sight of Kallias anxious made _ Nicaise _anxious. “He won’t kill you,” Kallias said. “Or he would’ve just done it earlier.”

“That just means he wants something.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” Kallias threw up his hands. “You picked his pocket, no one’s ever managed that before, now he wants you to work for him. As a spy or a thief or both.”

Nicaise thought about it. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Oh, Agathon above.” Kallias ran his hands through his hair. “You do _ not _want to work anywhere near a Barrel boss.”

Nicaise scoffed. “What, because it would be worse than working for Adrastus? Don’t kid yourself.” 

Kallias glared at him, and Nicaise wondered if maybe that had been too far. Kallias had never done anything but take care of him since he’d arrived here. It had been a strange friendship, two survivors from rivaling countries. Nicaise had used to be absolutely set on hating him, but the simple fact was that they’d both been forcibly thrown into the same predicament, and Kallias with his strategic brain and outward sweetness had been the closest thing to home.

Still, Nicaise never did things in half-measures. His fists clenched. “It’s not like things are actually ever going to get better where we _ are. _ It’s not like either of us are _ ever _ going to pay off our indentures, or you’re ever going to see your _ sweetheart _ again, or—”

Kallias’ tone was tense as a taut wire. “Don’t.”

“That’s the problem with you slaves,” Nicaise said. He knew it was cruel. “You never even fight it. All you know is how to sit down and _ shut up.” _

A noise tore from Kallias’ throat, hurt and pitiful. He stared at Nicaise, shoulders hunched and hands pressed to his stomach as though Nicaise had dealt him a blow.

“It’s almost sundown.” Nicaise couldn’t look at him. “I need to go.”


	2. the deal is the deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to say this, but all the chapter titles and the story title too are soc/ck quotes ;)

Once Nicaise mentioned that Brekker had told him to meet him, the Dregs had parted around him like a kind of commiserating sea. No one wished him good luck as he entered the office, but the looks on their faces said it all.

Brekker was waiting for him at his desk, with a sort of deliberate insouciance that reminded Nicaise of the prince, years ago. The Wraith, too, was waiting at the side of the room, half in the shadows. 

Wordlessly, Brekker gestured him closer, slipping something out of his sleeves and dropping it onto the desk.

Nicaise’s fists clenched. On the table was a gleaming sapphire earring. Nicaise snatched it up, furious. Radel had not been well-pleased to find Nicaise had not been wearing it this afternoon. If he’d told Adrastus Nicaise had lost it, it would have earned him a beating.

“What?” Brekker asked coolly as Nicaise slid the sapphire’s hook through his pierced earlobe. “Don’t like it as much when it happens to you?”

The Wraith rolled her eyes. “I think you’re just bitter he managed to do it to you in the first place.”

Nicaise wanted out of here. “What business?” he said.

The barest hint of a smile lifted Brekker’s lips. “How long have you been in Ketterdam, Nicaise?”

Nicaise sucked in a breath. Only Kallias ever called him that now. He briefly considered lying—if Brekker found out he was practically _ new _here he’d appear twice as vulnerable— but if Brekker knew his real name, it was useless. It meant Brekker already knew everything. 

“One year and ten months,” Nicaise said flatly. 

Brekker nodded. “And you work at the Jeweled Pet.”

“Yes.” Nicaise thought he might throw up. _ “What business?” _

“Get on with it, Kaz,” the Wraith said tightly.

“Of course. I’ll pay off your indenture with Adrastus,” Brekker said, leaning forward. 

Nicaise blinked. He almost wanted to laugh. This was foolish; Brekker was foolish. “You’ll never be able to.”

The Wraith’s brows furrowed. Brekker raised an eyebrow, prompting him to explain.

They just didn’t _get _it. Nicaise’s was no simple indenture; his were the leftovers from another contract, the one he’d _broken,_ and one made with the most powerful man of Vere. That man was dead, but Nicaise would be paying for it the rest of his life. “My debt to the House is worth three million kruge.” Nicaise’s services were expensive, but it was not an indenture he was meant to ever pay off. 

“Done,” said the Wraith.

Nicaise swayed and braced himself on the nearby shelf, taken aback. _ Three million kruge. _ “Didn’t you hear what I—”

“Playing rather loose and fast with your money, Inej,” Brekker murmured. “I thought you disapproved of gambling.”

The Wraith smiled, and it was strangely soft, almost sincere. “Well, I _ am _going hunting, after all. This is just the first stop. If you still want to talk business, call it an investment.”

For a long, drawn-out moment, Brekker simply looked at her. Then he turned to Nicaise. “Well, then, Nicaise, the Wraith herself has decided to set you free.”

“What in return?” Nicaise said. His knees were knocking against each other. He thought: His contract— all of it, this life, the entire ugly messy affair— over and done with— no. Everything had a price.

“I want another spider,” Brekker said immediately.

The Wraith whirled to face Kaz, scowling. “What? No. Nothing in return.”

“Now, Inej,” said Brekker with a smile, “no business transaction has ever gone that way. If you’re planning to go on your hunting trip soon, I’m going to need a new spy. And if he’s going to be under the Dregs’ protection, he’s going to have to earn his keep. See? It all works out. What say you, Nicaise?”

_ I say I’m just trading one hell for another, _ Nicaise thought. Just because there was no written contract did not mean he was free. _ Though it’s not like I have a choice. _“For how long?”

“For as long as Inej asks you to, and for as long as you’re here in Ketterdam and you’re one of us,” said Brekker. The Wraith was still frowning, as though she disagreed. Everyone seemed to think the Wraith was Brekker’s spy, but now Nicaise wondered if they were more like partners. There was an interested smile on Brekker’s face, as though Nicaise were a minor entertainment he had deigned to take a look at. “I’m sure Inej can show you the ropes.”

With the agreement sealed, Inej told him he didn’t have to go back, but Nicaise stumbled back to the House in a stupor anyway, uncertain whether he’d been dealt a blessing or a curse. He returned mainly for Kallias, who might turn the Barrel apart looking for him if Nicaise did not show up.

He found the older boy curled up on his cot and facing the wall, still dressed in a classical chiton, which meant he’d had a client. It was too cold to wear it regularly in this weather, with Ketterdam’s brutal winds and storms. 

Nicaise dragged the thin blanket off his own cot and tossed it over Kallias’ shoulders in lieu of a hello. “What happened to you?”

“I think… you are right,” Kallias said. “It isn’t going to get better. I don’t know why I’m…”

“You know, you should really know better than to believe anything I say,” Nicaise said carefully, sitting down beside him.

Kallias didn’t smile. “I miss Akielos,” he said, eyes drifting shut. “I miss the gardens.”

Nicaise said nothing. He remembered little of his childhood in Vere. He had grown up in an orphanage: All that remained of his memories were flashes of hunger pangs; running across a dirt road with boys whose faces he could not reconstruct; sixteen beds crammed together in their too-small shared room; and, once, one of his very first memories—the trumpets booming as Prince Auguste had led the troops through the town, on their way to Marlas. 

Nicaise hadn’t been allowed to come out of the orphanage to see them, but he’d thought that the trumpets had sounded pretty.

Nicaise remembered also the day the Regent’s Guard had escorted him to the palace, but he pushed those memories away. He sometimes thought that this life had been split in pieces. The time before Arles, the time in Arles, and now. The after.

He lay down on his side so that their backs pressed together. “Tell me about it, then,” Nicaise said instead. “Akielos.”

By then, he had already heard it maybe a hundred times. Kallias told him about the lush gardens, the white cliffs, the endless sea. The days they’d spent growing up in comfort, nursing a dream.

It all sounded beautiful, but of course, Arles had looked pretty too. 

“You never talk about Vere,” Kallias said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Nicaise replied.


	3. then learn a new refrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicaise kicked out wildly, catching Brekker’s bad leg, enough to slip out of Brekker’s grip. 
> 
> Nicaise backed up and then they were circling each other. 
> 
> “Dirty fighter,” Brekker commented. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pathetically short but the next one will be....... marginally longer! and i’ll have it all ready to go in a few days despite my very horrible track record at updating regularly! the venn diagram of people liking Both capri and soc/ck seems v tiny but i hope yall enjoy :>>
> 
> and also there were questions about when in each verse this occurs, and: it’s post-canon, but this is set almost two years after kings rising, and a few months after crooked kingdom. obvs canon capri was set in more ancient times, though, so we’re gonna pretend the technologies/inventions are roughly equal, e.g. guns exist because they do in soc/ck but they’re not advanced enough to be unstoppable against skilled fighters like inej/laurent/damen. bear with me! i just want a crossover!

Over the next few weeks, Brekker and Inej showed Nicaise the ropes. Brekker ordered Inej to teach Nicaise knives, and Nicaise didn’t voice his apprehension. Learning how to handle a weapon was still far preferable to Brekker teaching him about every person he knew in Ketterdam, most of whom were enemies. 

“Saints, does  _ every _ one in this fucking dump want you dead?” Nicaise muttered.

“Almost certainly all of them,” Brekker said. “Can you read?”

Nicaise tensed. “A bit.”

“How much a bit?”

“A  _ little,  _ okay? I can read but I’m not fast at it.”  _ I’m fucking slow  _ would be a quicker way to put it.

“Mm.” Brekker considered him. “Get Inej to help you. Perhaps Jesper and Wylan can offer you a tutor. Now stand up. You did manage to swipe my wallet off me: How good are you in a fight?”

Nicaise didn’t get a chance to answer: Out of nowhere, Brekker swung his cane at him, a blow that would have cracked his head open if Nicaise hadn’t ducked. “What the fuck!” 

“You  _ are _ quick.” His hand shot out, closing around Nicaise’s wrist and twisting. Nicaise kicked out wildly, catching Brekker’s bad leg, enough to slip out of Brekker’s grip. 

Nicaise backed up and then they were circling each other. 

“Dirty fighter,” Brekker commented. “Good.”

“Fuck you.” He didn’t kid himself that he was actually holding his own against Dirtyhands. Brekker was toying with him. 

“Relax,” Brekker said, spreading his hands as if to say,  _ What? I didn’t do anything. _

Nicaise had made a mistake: He’d backed himself up against the wall. Behind Brekker was the door. He charged forward.

Brekker blocked his fist before he could slam it into his side. Nicaise rammed his knee hard into Brekker’s crotch. Gasping, Brekker let go of his wrist and swung his cane at his torso, and Nicaise slunk back again, wary of that heavy crow cane, famous for shattering bones.

“You fight like Inej,” Brekker laughed, the way he stepped forward not unlike a predator. “Though nowhere near as good.” Nicaise grasped his arm as he swung it, bending it backwards, his other hand grappling for Brekker’s cane.

Brekker grinned as they both held onto the cane, and Nicaise found himself pulled forward, off his balance, his feet swept under him. Brekker got only one hard kick to his ribs in before Nicaise was rolling away. 

Nicaise got the feeling that Brekker only got irritated with him when he saw Nicaise run for the door. A hand closed on his collar and Brekker’s ringed fist smashed into his jaw.

“Are you stupid?” Brekker snapped. “You don’t turn your back on an enemy. You don’t run from a fight. That’s when you turn into prey.”

Nicaise panted, bracing himself on the desk. Blood welled in his lip. They glared at each other.

“You fight like a street rat,” Brekker told him, retracting his earlier statement. “Desperate, cornered. Unthinking.”

Nicaise scowled. “Thanks.”

“You’ll get better,” Brekker continued, the threat implicit in his tone. “In the Dregs, no one helps you if you don’t help yourself.”

Nicaise wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood. “What are you talking about? It’s like that everywhere.”

  
  


Nicaise thought often that Inej did most of the work, and he often wondered why she put up with it. Inej was Brekker’s main source of information and protection. At the same time, Inej showed Nicaise the shortcuts through town, the alleys no one used, the safest routes on rooftops. She brought Nicaise to the Van Ecks’ house to be tutored. 

And she taught Nicaise knives.

“So, how did you come to be here?”

_ It’s none of your fucking business.  _ Nicaise glanced at Inej, but Inej’s eyes were still firmly on the target. The knife glinted in the afternoon light as she drew her arm back. It thudded into the red-painted wood, dead center.

When Nicaise said nothing, Inej went on. “I was indentured as well. A slaver took me from my home in Ravka and I was sold to Tante Heleen.” Nicaise jerked his head up, the story starting to explain itself: Kaz had freed Inej years ago; Inej wanted to hunt slavers now; Tante Heleen was in debt. The Menagerie had long closed down.

“Is that his whole schtick, then?” Nicaise asked. He should have known better than to mouth off, really, but Inej had seemed to be on his side. “Right, I get it. Dirtyhands comes to people who need him, so they become indebted to him, so he can use them and whatever they have to offer.” It was too familiar.

Inej met his gaze at last. Her voice was fierce when she spoke. “Kaz may manipulate people, but that doesn’t mean they’re expendables to him. He keeps his word.” 

Nicaise drew his arm back. He thought of the Regent, so kind to him in those first few days after Nicaise had come to the palace. His aim was off, the knife embedding itself in the third circle outside the target, but it was a solid hit, a start. “You really believe that.”

“I do.”

_ “Why?” _

Inej eyed him. “Because I’ve seen it.” Inej said it like a secret. In between drawing another blade from her boot and sending it spinning to the target, she said, “Kaz found my parents, you know.”

Surprised, Nicaise turned to look at her.

“Three months ago,” Inej said. “He called in a favor, arranged for their trip here, bought me a ship. I didn’t ask for it, and it wasn’t a bargain. But it was a ticket out of here, a way I could leave  _ him  _ behind, and he didn’t have to do any of that for me.” Inej finally met his eyes. “He’s not unkind, Kaz Brekker. You’ll see.”

Yeah, Nicaise hoped so.

“Eyes on the target.” Inej adjusted his form, and Nicaise’s gaze refocused on the center circle, the dark red paint colored like blood and the Regent’s red banners. He hoped Laurent had burned them all. 

His next throw was better.

“I was running from something,” Nicaise said finally, answering Inej’s question.  _ Wasn’t really successful at it. _ “I ended up here.”


	4. we don’t trade in safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej was leaving soon. No one bothered to tell Nicaise outright, but Inej had taught Nicaise a few things about picking up information. He could sense it in the way the rest of the Dregs moved, a quiet energy within them as though they were already preparing for Inej’s departure, half-grief and half-anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how soon i can get the next chapter out but anyway here's a longer chapter to make up a bit for the last one ;> kudos & comments are v appreciated!!!

“So what’s your deal, Nic?” Jesper finally demanded one morning, right across the long Van Eck dining table. “Why’d you need a tutor? Why’s Inej taken you under her wing? And, Nic, why join the Dregs?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you Dregs? Or call you Nic?”

“He’s Kaz’ new spider,” said Inej promptly, around her coffee. “Go easy, Jes. You know, he picked Kaz’ pocket.” Wylan choked. Inej thumped his back.

“Wha—really?” Jesper looked wildly between Inej and Nicaise as though some bomb might erupt between them. 

“I’m  _ going _ to be his spider,” Nicaise said, glaring at Jesper evenly.

“No,  _ how’d you pick Kaz’ pocket?” _

_ “How are you still alive?”  _ Wylan coughed out.

“It’s not like I got to keep the money in the end.”

“Obviously,” Wylan said loudly. “That’s besides the point, though. Inej, d’you think  _ you _ could do that?”

“Wylan, you know that’s not my style.”

“True,” Jesper mused, tapping a finger to his lips. “You don’t really look like a  _ Wraith.  _ Or even a spider. It’s too nice for you.”

Nicaise snorted. “Thank you.”

“You strike me more as, like, a swarm of wasps,” Wylan offered.

Jesper cackled. “I was thinking of a tiny little viper, but that fits too!”

“You’re a Fury,” Inej said suddenly. “A spirit of vengeance.”

“I wasn’t aware you all thought so highly of me,” Nicaise said, turning his nose up at them. Inej bumped his shoulder companionably, smiling. 

_ A Fury.  _ Nicaise didn’t mind the idea.

  
  


Against all sense, Nicaise found himself sneaking back to the Jeweled Pet often, if only to check up on Kallias and the other boys. 

He knew Kaz and the other Dregs thought him strange for it. After all even Inej avoided the Menagerie, and if Adrastus ever caught him unprotected he’d likely never get out again, paid debt or no. But Nicaise was reckless enough and lost enough and perhaps lonely enough not to care.

“Stars, Nic!” Kallias said in alarm when he slipped in one morning. “What happened?”

“What?” Nicaise remembered the bruise on his face. “Oh. Kaz was sparring with me, don’t worry about it.”

_ “Sparring _ with you…” Aden said, a horrified look on his face. Nicaise rolled his eyes. He knew how Kallias and the others had been raised: to keep their bodies untainted, unmarred, perfect. In the first year of being the Regent’s pet Nicaise had been just as meticulous, just as paranoid— but nowadays Nicaise didn’t see the point.

“It’ll go away eventually,” he said.

Kallias was frowning. “If you’re only getting hurt out there… by  _ Dirtyhands... _ is it really so much better than staying here? Why not just—”

_ “No,”  _ Nicaise said fiercely. “It’s not like here at all, I don’t— I’m not under contract, and I’m  _ learning  _ things, I—”  _ I get to make the choice,  _ Nicaise meant, but he wasn’t sure Kallias would understand. Kallias had never been free. 

But Kallias clutched his hand, something decidedly sharp in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re doing well, then,” he said. 

Nicaise smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I... I think I know a little of what it’s like. When things are really bad but you have to do what you can with the bit you’ve got. And it might still be bad, but it’s better than not doing anything at all.”

People had talked of the Wraith like she was a ghost who came at Kaz’ call, a weapon Kaz made and wielded, emotionless and deadly, but Inej, Nicaise quickly learned, was not that. 

Inej was not that at all, Nicaise thought with relief, as he slipped in to find Inej sitting beside Kaz at his desk, heads bent together around lists and maps, which was closer than Kaz ever allowed anyone. 

“Well, what’s next? I think the Jeweled Pet is a good mark,” Inej said, turning to smile at Nicaise.

Nicaise froze. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he murmured before he could stop himself. 

Kaz’ eyes slid to him, the incredulity and surprise in them a rarity to see. “And why’s that?”

It pained Nicaise to force the words out. Kaz and Inej had driven slavers and brothel owners and Barrel bosses to ruin, and now, the Jeweled Pet was one of the few left, possibly the most infamous whorehouse in the Barrel. “Adrastus and Radel are easy marks, I’m not denying that. And they’d deserve all of it and worse. But if the Jeweled Pet closes down, you’ll just hurt—”

He paused long enough for Kaz to start tapping his fingers on his cane, impatient. “Hurt?”

Nicaise was loath to explain it. He wasn’t even entirely sure how. “Most of the boys from the House… they’re not like me. I was a pet in Vere before I got here. But the others were slaves in Akielos. They’re not— they don’t know how— they were taken too young. They won’t know anything else.” He thought of Kallias, endlessly kind, startlingly fierce, but dependent. Kallias, he remembered, had been certain it would be safer for Nicaise to  _ stay. _ “If they’re freed, they’ll just be easy targets themselves. They won’t know how to survive.” Unless Kaz was willing to take in a houseful of green youths, which was not how Kaz operated, as far as Nicaise knew.

“They’d learn.”

“No,” Inej said, frowning. “If what Nicaise said is true, if they were  _ raised  _ slaves… Ketterdam isn’t kind to innocents.”

Kaz actually seemed to be thinking about it. “Do you really think a life of misery in a whorehouse is better than a life of fear outside it?” 

_ I think they’d have to be the ones to choose that, first.  _ Nicaise said nothing. 

“Akielos is abolishing slavery, if Wylan’s information is right,” Kaz continued. “So we can assume the boys were stolen, not sent here as some sadistic gift.”

Nicaise debated answering for a moment. But what good was he as Kaz’ spy, as Kaz’  _ Fury _ , if he held out on him? “Not stolen. They… knew things that couldn’t go public. The boys  _ and  _ the owners. They  _ were  _ sent here, by the last King, I think, but—as a means of disposal, more like.” Or a punishment.

“Hm.” Kaz looked keenly at him, like he could already hear all the things Nicaise wasn’t saying. “That’s a much crueler view of Akielons than their reputations let on.”

“Yeah, well. You’d be surprised.”

  
  


Inej was leaving soon. No one bothered to tell Nicaise outright, but Inej had taught Nicaise a few things about picking up information. 

He could sense it in the way the rest of the Dregs moved, a quiet energy within them as though they were already preparing for Inej’s departure, half-grief and half-anticipation. He saw it in the low talks between Inej and her parents at Wylan’s house, solemn and proud. Without realizing he saw it in himself, too, how he had taken over most of Inej’s job now, slipping over rooftops and into windows to gather information, to accompany them on missions unseen, while Inej took up a place directly at Kaz’ side, instead.

Most of all Nicaise thought it was in all the ways Kaz looked at her, like a man looking at the sunset knowing how long the night would be. Inej would look back and smile, her entire face going soft and young, but then she’d look out the window at the sea like the rest of the whole world was waiting for her. 

At night he listened to them poring over maps of the whole continent, penciling out routes and circling stops, while the books and files on Ketterdam stayed, for once, peacefully shut. Finished, or nearly.

“So,” Nicaise started later that night, after Kaz had retired to sleep. “Patras, huh.”

Inej’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “So you heard.”

“I figured it out.”

“It was always the plan.” She shrugged. “Last country on the continent that still allows the slave trade. So, first stop. And then—Ravka, maybe.”

Inej had told Nicaise that she’d already been planning to leave before they’d met, but that she’d changed her mind; she hadn’t been finished with Ketterdam then, she said. 

She’d had people to care for and people to take down and loose ends to tie up, and that was what she and Kaz had been doing up to now. With Nicaise’s occasional assistance they’d run several corrupt merches out of business, helped Wylan clean out the fools in the Council, driven out most of the slavers. 

Nicaise knew by now the kind of person Inej was: She couldn’t stand idling around. Luxury made her uncomfortable. She was done with Ketterdam, so she was going to look for something more.

“Think you’ll come back?”

Inej laughed, a little startled, as though the question was a surprise. “Of course. My family is here.” Nicaise got the sense that she wasn’t only talking about her parents. “I—I’ve been putting this whole thing off, truthfully, because of that.” She looked at him and smiled a little sadly. “I know your own country is just northwest of Patras.”

Nicaise looked away. “It’s not… there’s nothing waiting for me there.”

“Still,” Inej said. “I think there’s nothing quite like your homeland. No matter how many new homes you make, you carry the first one with you.”

Nicaise thought of the single sapphire earring he still carried in his pocket, the other half won by Laurent, and he scowled. “You really think so?” he asked. “You don’t think it’ll ever leave you?”

Inej frowned. “No, not if it’s home. The heart is an arrow,” Inej said, the words rote, as though repeating some ancient truth. “It demands aim to land true. Papa always says that.”

Nicaise furrowed his brows. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

Inej took Nicaise’s hand. “It means, if you are going to live, it has to be for  _ something.  _ You have to find a reason, something to come back to and stand by.”

  
  


“No mourners!” yelled Jesper, as the crew made their way onto the deck. 

“No mourners,” Wylan echoed, and so did the few other Dregs who had wanted to see their best spider and her crew off.  _ No mourners, no mourners, no mourners,  _ an eerie chorus.

Inej turned to Nicaise. “You’ll keep this lot out of trouble?” 

Nicaise raised his hands. “You know I’ll do my best, but I can only do so much. You’ll come back?” The Dregs might need to hide everything they wanted to say in that stupid mantra, but Nicaise knew Inej better.

Inej smiled. “No matter what. You remember what I told you?”

“I’m figuring it out.”

Inej’s father had walked with her to the edge of the berth. He held her hand now in a tight grip. Inej was murmuring something to him, in that easy, untroubled way of hers. Finally Inej looked back at them, expression somewhere between excitement and longing.

Kaz was at the front of the quay, one hand on his cane and the other in his pocket. His face had never been more unreadable. “You heard them, Wraith,” he said, his low voice somehow carrying easily over the wind. “No mourners.” 

Inej beamed like he’d just professed his undying love to her. “No funerals!”

“Holding you to that, Wraith.”

“You too.” She waved. “Be back soon.”


	5. the toughest mark is an honest one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with everything, the peace had been a little too good to last. Maybe by now Nicaise should have learned to expect that. Kaz had handed him a stolen letter with a knowing look in his eyes. “Your next job.”
> 
> “A delegation,” Nicaise repeated. “From—”
> 
> “Your home country, I believe.” Kaz was watching him closely. 
> 
> Nicaise wrinkled his nose. “Artes, or whatever they’re calling it, isn’t my home country.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap this took a while............ i hope u guys still remember this fic...... anyway hav fun and drop a kudos or a comment if u liked it, it wld b vry appreciated!!! this chapter is a Fun one
> 
> & take care during these times !! idk abt yall but my country is going Thru it

After Inej left, Nicaise worked as Dirtyhands’ silent eyes and ears for the better part of a year. 

It was dangerous, unpredictable work. Kaz and his lot were richer and more secured now than they had ever been, and that only meant more enemies, more challengers, a higher pedestal to be knocked down from. Nicaise’s job was to find them first, take them down before they could make a move, keep Kaz ahead of the chess game.

It was almost like Arles.

  
  


As with everything, the peace had been a little too good to last. Maybe by now Nicaise should have learned to expect that.

Kaz had handed him a stolen letter with a knowing look in his eyes. “Your next job.”

“A delegation,” Nicaise repeated. The letter shook minutely in his hand and he stood up and began pacing to hide it. “From—”

“Your home country, I believe.” Kaz was watching him closely. 

Nicaise wrinkled his nose. _ “Artes, _ or whatever they’re calling it, isn’t my home country.” The letter was a duplicate courtesy of Jesper and Wylan, filched from the Merchant Council.

“It’ll be a small one,” Kaz said, referring to the delegation. “Artes is a fragile, budding empire who’s never traded with Kerch before. They’ll be playing their cards close to the chest. They’re still the most powerful empire on the continent, though.”

“So the Council will be on their knees to have their favor?”

Kaz smiled, all teeth. “Of course. They’ll make a grand affair of it.”

Nicaise was already steeling himself. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  
  


Nicaise had taken up a post on the roof nearest the ports. 

The ship was small and inconspicuous enough that it might have passed his notice entirely if members of the Council hadn’t been there to welcome them personally, and that should have been the first tell.

The figure that descended down the gangplank was faintly familiar. Nicaise strained to see him clearly past the Merchant Council representatives clamoring to shake his hand. The man was smiling graciously, bowing to the councilmen. Nicaise’s heart was hammering against his ribs. He was certain he’d seen him in Arles, but the name slipped away from him.

The realization came then— it was a struggle to place him precisely because everything Nicaise remembered of him was indistinctive, from the brown jacket he wore to the way he held himself. The ambassador was Lord Berenger.

He could see his red-haired pet coming down behind him now, flanked by a guard and— 

Nicaise’s breath caught.

_ No. _

  
  


“Nic!” Jesper said cheerily. “Back early?”

Nicaise swallowed. “Is this some kind of joke?” Nicaise dug the letter Kaz had given him out of his pockets and threw it onto the table. Kaz raised an eyebrow. “Your information’s all wrong.” 

“What?” Wylan stood up. “That was from the Head of the Council.”

“Well, you were duped, or they’re being duped right now.” Nicaise rubbed his face. “I—I can’t believe it. They’re a bunch of idiots.” 

“Sorry, _ who’s _an idiot?” Jesper asked.

_ “Everyone! _ Those fucking Ve—Artesians! The whole Merchant Council!”

Kaz snorted. “I’d say that’s common knowledge.”

“You don’t get it. The delegation,” Nicaise said, finding it impossible to explain. “It’s not small at all.”

“It’s only the ambassador and a scribe, isn’t it?” Wylan asked. “And their guards?”

Nicaise sank into a chair at last, on the brink of hysterical laughter. _ “No,” _ he said. “It’s the ambassador, and his pet, and the _ Royal _ Guard, _ and _the Kings.”

There was a silence. Kaz finally looked up. “The Kings?”

“Yes, the new Kings,” Nicaise snapped. “From Vere and Akielos. They’re here.”

Kaz and Jesper and Wylan traded glances. “Well?” Nicaise asked. He was breathing heavily even though there hadn’t been anyone to fight, adrenaline still humming through his body. The sight of Prince Laurent— _ King, King Laurent— _usually evoked that sort of reaction.

“So, what are they here for?” Wylan asked.

“I believe that was your job to find out,” Kaz said, eyes steely on Nicaise.

Nicaise rolled his eyes. “Well, they haven't let anything on to the Council, so I wouldn’t know yet. The Council thinks the Kings are just the _ scribe and a random guard, _so they did the usual greeting and gave them room to stay at some inn and that’s the last I saw of them. There’ll be a welcome feast later. Are they really this stupid?”

Jesper gaped at him. Wylan looked thoughtful. “And the ambassador? Is he who he says he is?”

“Yes. The ambassador’s name is Berenger, he’s a Lord from Vere, he used to be— allies, with the King.” 

For the first time Nicaise wondered what Arles might look like, now. The Regent’s old friends would probably all be gone, executed and replaced, because Laurent was on the throne. The more neutral courtiers, like Chelaut and Jeurre, would have jumped ship immediately, but Laurent wouldn’t have trusted them, not really. Nicaise tried to imagine it. Laurent had had so few allies. 

“It makes sense, that Berenger is the ambassador,” Nicaise said. “Kerch is too foreign and new to Vere for them to send someone they didn’t completely trust.” No one corrected him on calling it _ Vere, _this time.

“That’s insane,” Jesper said. “I don’t get it. Don’t they trust anyone else to do whatever they plan to do?”

“They must be after something," Wylan said, "to come here in disguise unprotected themselves.”

“What do you think that is, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know Artesians half as well enough to make any sort of speculation,” Kaz said. “What about you, Nicaise?”

But Nicaise had been thinking of nothing else since he’d seen the Veretian and Akielon banners, and he was coming to an uncomfortable conclusion. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t have any idea.”

The Merchant Council’s welcome feast had been a simple meal compared to the decadence of the Regent’s celebrations, but Nicaise pushed that thought to the back of his mind deliberately.

Seeing Laurent now— and in _ commoner’s clothes— _felt just as startling and illicit as it had been on the ports, almost passable as a lowly scribe if it were not for the bright gold of his hair, the icy blue eyes. And then there was the question of the Akielon constantly at his side.

Nicaise wasn’t deaf. He’d heard all the gossip. He’d just thought it would be stupid to believe them.

After the food they had turned to drink, and as they raised glasses to the (yet to be discussed) alliance the music had started up. Nicaise was tired. Surely Laurent would excuse himself soon. In Arles he’d often leave festivities as early as he could.

But Laurent was beckoning the slave to the center of the hall, instead, as drink flowed and the music turned into a wild, colorful thing. He had one hand on the Akielon’s shoulder, the other holding his hand. Nicaise found his gaze drawn to the way the Akielon pulled Laurent close, a hand casual on his waist. 

In the middle of the hall they began, loosely, to turn. Laurent’s lip was curling upwards as they spun together, his hold on the king-slave a little too close, too intimate to be considered formal. Smiling—Laurent was smiling, with absolutely no malice to it, no falsehood, only joy.

There was a bitter taste in Nicaise’s mouth. 

  
  


“So did you enjoy it?” a low voice asked, the door swinging open just as Nicaise slipped out through the window later that night. The Akielon. 

They were sharing the room. Of course they were. 

Nicaise had left the feast earlier than both of them, after it had become apparent that he would not gain anything useful by staying. He’d broken into their room at the inn instead in the hope of finding some explanation for Laurent’s presence. Clearly he had still not done it quickly enough.

“You know I did.” Nicaise’s fingers nearly slipped on the rough brick. That clear, playful voice rang in his ears. He held himself still, hardly breathing. “I missed this.”

“What? Being able to cause mischief unchecked?” 

A laugh, bright and unrestrained. “Not having eyes on me for a while.”

“I had my eyes on you.”

“You don’t count.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

"No, obviously you're just a random guard, why would you count?" Laughter. They were still talking, a quiet, easy back-and-forth. Nicaise should leave, now, while they were distracted. He had gotten the little information he wanted. There was no reason to wait around. He levered himself up onto the roof. 

“Damen, was that window open before we left?”

_ Fuck. _ Panicking, Nicaise made a running jump onto the neighboring house, causing a louder racket than he would’ve made if he’d just _ stayed fucking still. _

“Hey! You!”

It was Laurent’s voice, sharp and commanding and _ known. _

Nicaise didn’t stop running. But he threw a look over his shoulder, just a glance, barely half a second. 

Laurent was standing at the window, illuminated by lamplight. He was leaning forward, hands gripping the sill like he wanted to reach out a hand, face deathly white.


	6. this city's price is blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone was following him. 
> 
> It had started early this morning, right after Nicaise had been watching the Artesians arguing with the Council over the specifics of trade at the Church of Barter through a high window. Nicaise couldn’t catch a glimpse of the person's face; it was a tall, hooded figure, clothes baggy and rumpled. He’d shaken the person off exactly twice and now they had reappeared in his shadow a third time. 

Someone was following him. 

It had started early this morning, right after Nicaise had been watching the Artesians arguing with the Council over the specifics of trade at the Church of Barter through a high window. Nicaise couldn’t catch a glimpse of the person's face; it was a tall, hooded figure, clothes baggy and rumpled. He’d shaken the person off exactly twice and now they had reappeared in his shadow a third time. 

Nicaise deliberately relaxed his shoulders, turning onto a narrow street. It was close to empty apart from a few stragglers, not a place people liked to linger; instead Nicaise dared to slow his steps further, shoving his hands in his pockets.

When the person behind him slowed to match his pace Nicaise got sick of playing the game. He slipped into a gap between two crumbling buildings and waited for his mark to follow, then rushed him against the opposite wall. The other figure was taller, but Nicaise had the advantage of surprise and a dagger.

“What the fuck do you—” Nicaise started, but the next words died on his tongue.

Underneath the unsightly hood was Laurent, staring at him with clear blue eyes.

“What,” Nicaise said. His grip loosened. 

“It _ is _ you,” Laurent whispered. He leaned forward. There was something brittle in his voice that Nicaise didn’t expect. “It was you on the roof—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t— I don’t know you—”

“You recognized me,” Laurent said._ “Nicaise.” _

Nicaise stumbled back. The dagger clattered to the filthy ground. “Why did you follow me?”

“Why _ wouldn’t _ I follow you?” Laurent shot back. “I haven’t seen you in years, I thought you were _ dead.” _

“You— _ what?” _ Nicaise’s mind _ reeled; _ he hadn’t ever entertained, even when he had first been brought here, the notion that _ Laurent wouldn’t know. _ The Regent had sent him here, that had been all he had known— and Laurent hadn’t looked for him, Laurent had left him here to rot, Laurent hadn't cared, because if he had cared—

“Nicaise, I’m so _ sorry.” _

The wretchedness on Laurent’s face was unbearable. Nicaise stood still, saying nothing. Slowly, Laurent gathered him into a hug.

Nicaise sucked in a breath. He belatedly remembered Arles, where Laurent would offer him his hand only occasionally. Laurent was a solid, real warmth around him, smelling like expensive soap and old clothes, Nicaise’s chin pressing into Laurent’s shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Laurent breathed into Nicaise’s hair. He laughed softly. “You’re so—_ tall, _ and—” Laurent pulled back, keeping his hands on Nicaise’s shoulders. _ Older, _ Nicaise thought, and neither of them said it. “Have you eaten?” he asked, suddenly brisk. “Come with me, I can have a meal brought up— we’re staying at the Geldrenner, it’s a close walk—”

“I know where you’re staying,” Nicaise said, a smile tugging at his lips. He hadn’t had to worry about food or money since he’d moved to the Slat, but he didn’t say so. Instead he wrinkled his nose and shoved Laurent back. “Where did you even get those clothes? You look hideous.”

Laurent grinned back. “Trust me,” he said, bringing the hood back up over his head, “you don’t want to know.”

  
  


_ “Mmph,” _Nicaise said around a mouthful of strawberry filling, eyes falling shut. He didn’t know how Laurent had managed to get Veretian pastries in Ketterdam— they certainly wouldn’t have kept for the entire journey here— but he wasn’t going to complain. 

“Good?” 

Nicaise opened his eyes. “I haven’t eaten anything this good since I left Arles,” he said. They were sitting at a table in the middle of the Laurent's room, with a feast big enough for five people. Nicaise had known that Laurent's room was pretty when he'd first visited, obviously, but now that he could actually look around without fear of discovery, he dearly appreciated the comfort it offered. “You probably wouldn’t have any wine, would you?”

“No,” Laurent snorted. Nicaise made a sound of disgust in his throat but didn’t stop chewing. With a glance at Nicaise for permission, Laurent reached out to run a finger over the light, sleek hilt of his dagger, which was lying on the table. It was a gift from Inej. “You know how to use this?”

“Of course I do,” Nicaise said loftily.

Laurent smiled. “We’ll have to spar sometime.”

He snorted. “You couldn’t beat me.”

“Oh, _ really?” _

“Please. I’d hate to embarrass you.”

“You think you can beat the King of Vere?” Laurent said archly.

“I bet I could put you into the dirt in three minutes,” Nicaise retorted, which was a gross exaggeration.

There was a beat, and then they were both laughing helplessly at themselves, a familiarity so relentless and natural it leapt across years of absence and resettled between them, easy as breathing. 

“So,” Nicaise said when silence fell again. His gaze caught on the golden lion pin on the vanity table. It was gleaming pure gold. Nicaise hadn’t the time to appreciate it the first time he’d seen it. Damianos wasn’t here, and when it came to Laurent, that probably wasn’t coincidence. “It’s true, then. You married him.” 

Saints, but the idea was so _ foreign _ to him. Nicaise’s gaze slid to Laurent’s hands, and there, on his ring finger, was a golden ring so delicately crafted, so unbelievably sentimental.

“I married him.” Laurent’s eyes were sincere, almost earnest, and it was nothing Nicaise had ever seen. He half-wondered whether he ever knew the prince at all. 

“And Vere is dead.”

“Vere is reborn,” said Laurent evenly. “It is now a state of Artes, and is stronger for it.”

Nicaise found that his brain rebelled against accepting it, against accepting the new Laurent that sat before him, regal and strong. “What are you even doing here?”

“Berenger is already here as trade ambassador, and we _ are _here to renew trade policies, but we also have intelligence that there are Akielon slaves being sold here, against the laws of Artes.” 

“Really? That’s _ it?” _It was confirmation of what Nicaise already knew, but he still couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “You came here all the way from Vere for that?”

“Of course.” Laurent’s gaze was dark with something like a promise. “Right now we’re just waiting for Berenger to complete the bargain with the Merchant Council. Part of our terms is that all Artesian property be duly returned. When the situation is precarious as this one, we like to do our investigations personally.”

It seemed to Nicaise that two kings personally investigating a sensitive issue would only make the situation _ more _precarious, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he asked, “Does your barbarian king know that the illegal trade was probably started by his bastard brother two years ago?”

Laurent’s gaze slid to him with a kind of dangerous curiosity. “Oh?”

“The traitor sent his own slaves here, after he had that Akielon enslaved. They’re whores. Their handler was sent here too. Apparently all of them knew too much.”

_ Me included. _ Nicaise clenched his teeth and hoped his face gave nothing away. He was sure that Laurent must have figured it out anyway, but Laurent only nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

  
  


After Nicaise had finished most of the pastries and Laurent left to return to the Church of Barter, Nicaise bypassed the Slat to head for the West Stave. It was early enough in the day that most of the houses would be empty of clients, and he slipped into the Jeweled Pet with ease.

“Nicaise!” Kallias said happily. “You’re back!”

“Sorry I haven’t visited,” Nicaise said, and he meant it. “I got you something.” He held up a bag of Laurent’s pastries, which Aden gleefully snatched out of his hands. “It’s Veretian but I think you’d like it anyway.”

“It’s good,” Aden said, handing them around.

“How did you get them, if they’re from Vere?” Kallias asked around a mouthful.

“I have my ways,” Nicaise said. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hmm?”

“What if you could be free from this place? I mean… what if there was a real way that you could be free, and—”

He stopped when he saw their faces fall. “Why do you ask that?” Aden said, low and terrified. “Do you think Adrastus would—” 

“No. No, I’m not saying anything about Adrastus. I just want you to consider, if—”

“And what would happen to us?” Iphegin asked warily. “We don’t have the skills like you do to take care of ourselves.”

It was a more thorough awareness of their own situation than Nicaise had expected. “What if there would be people to take care of you at first?” Nicaise pushed. “You wouldn’t have to serve anyone if you didn’t want to, and you could have a place to yourself, and if you ever decided to serve anyone you would be paid for it—”

“Paid!” said Aden, sounding scandalized.

“I don’t know, Nicaise,” Iphegin said, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Well, what if,” Nicaise said, taking a breath “you could go home?”

“Home,” Iphegin echoed, brows furrowed.

“To Akielos. In Ios, even.”

“You know something,” Kallias said suddenly, looking at Nicaise with narrowed brown eyes. He shook Nicaise’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t talk about this if you didn’t. What is it?”

Nicaise sighed. “You have to be quiet about it, or Adrastus will be tipped off. Your King is coming here.” All the boys were whispering now, despite Nicaise’s warning. “I don’t know how soon, but he will. Your _ real _King, anyway— Damianos, not the asshole that sent you here.” There were horrified gasps, but Nicaise waved them away. “What? You know I’m right. Anyway, he’s come to rescue you. Or something.”

“We’re going back to Akielos,” Aden said to himself. 

“I thought Damianos-exalted was dead,” one of the boys said, soft and confused. “Kastor-exalted isn’t King?”

“Not anymore, apparently,” Nicaise said.

Kallias was staring at him, very, very still. “You mean it?” he asked. “He’s coming here?”

Nicaise took Kallias’ hand. “I mean it.”

Despite Laurent’s assurances, Nicaise stayed at the Jeweled Pet to see it through for himself, partly to prove to the boys he hadn't lied. It was nearly dark out when there came muffled shouts from outside, then the deafening violence of men breaking in. He didn't think he'd imagined Laurent's clear voice in the din. Unable to sit still, Nicaise left with the certainty that Kallias would take care of the other boys, sneaking into a tiny room which no one ever opened, full of sheets and fancy clothes. Beneath one of the trunks was a grate that opened to a perfect view to the first floor, and Nicaise smiled at the sight.

Laurent appeared to be speaking cordially with Adrastus, but whatever words were coming out of his mouth must have been threatening, because Adrastus stood, gesturing angrily and threatening to call on the stadwatch. Called by the ruckus, Radel had also entered, freezing abruptly when he caught sight of his once-Prince.

Laurent smiled.

It was at that point that the Akielon came in, and Adrastus turned white.

“You have no business here—demanding I shut down years of work of all things—”

The Akielon drew his sword. Held it to Adrastus’ neck with no small amount of pressure. _ “You _ have no business smuggling _ my people _here and using them for your gain. You had no business committing treason against the crown years ago. You arrived here with forged papers and stolen riches, and you will be treated as the traitor and fugitive you are.”

Nicaise supposed he could see the Akielon’s usefulness, now. 

The few guards that had arrived with Laurent surrounded Adrastus and escorted him out. When it was Radel’s turn, he shook his head, putting his hands up. 

“Wait! I won’t fight, I won’t fight!” he cried, backing away. “I can show you where he hid all the boys, and the money, I can tell you everything he did! I— I can give you the records of it all, I swear!”

The Akielon put the sword down. Laurent eyed him. 

“You must know,” Laurent said, a chilling tone in his voice, “whatever information and assistance you offer will not help your case. There’s no penance for you.”

Radel bowed, as much as he could bow properly with a soldier coming forward to restrain his arms. “Yes, Your Majesty. I— I’d expect nothing less.”

It was almost a week before Nicaise saw Laurent again. He felt strangely wary of seeking out the King in a way that was not unlike how he had been afraid to get used to the luxuries of Arles, two years ago. Laurent’s agenda in Kerch had been completed; Nicaise was not some slave for him to rescue and take home to Vere. 

They had no further reason to talk, surely.

“Nicaise!” Anika said in a hushed voice when Nicaise entered the Slat. “Where in hell have you been?” 

Nicaise blinked. “Didn’t know I was in high demand.”

“Those foreigners came in here! Two of them, said they had business with Kaz. Did you know they had a meeting arranged?”

_ “What? _No!”

“Well, Roeder tried to stop them and got his face boxed for his trouble—” 

Nicaise wasn’t listening. “I think I’d better not come in through the front door after all,” he said, heading back out without a backwards glance.

  
  


He perched himself above the attic window, where the words would carry most on the wind. There was a tile on the roof that had come just loose enough that Nicaise could lift it and look in. Kaz either didn’t know yet or didn’t bother to fix it. Nicaise had once been terrified of ever considering the prospect of eavesdropping on Dirtyhands, but Inej had laughed and trained that out of him. 

Below, Laurent was saying, “Good afternoon.” 

Kaz stood, so wary and casual and calculating that he might have been Laurent’s mirror for that single moment, even though they looked nothing alike. Or maybe it was the other way around. “Your Majesties. To what do I owe the pleasure.” Though his words were polite pleasantries, he did not bow, his tone was flat, his gaze sly as ever. “And might I ask how you gained entry to the Slat and past the Dregs downstairs?”

The Akielon grinned at that, clasping his hands and stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders. The way his muscles bulged was practically obscene. “Oh, was that meant to be hard?”

Laurent stepped forward then, holding back his own smile. “I am here because I find I have business with the leader of the Dregs.”

“Oh?” The corner of Kaz’ lips lifted up. “What business?”

“As I understand it, you paid off Nicaise’s indenture. You took him out from the Jeweled Pet and gave him the choice to join the Dregs. Am I wrong?” 

“You couldn’t expect me to be that kind. It was my Wraith who volunteered her money, but she is currently on a… business trip, you might call it. And Nicaise took up her position in return for a place in the Dregs. You’ll find it was a bargain, hardly a rescue.”

Laurent regarded him for a moment, cool as glass, standing in the middle of Kaz’ office like he owned it; Damianos stood a step behind him, fierce and watchful. Kaz stood calm and relaxed behind his desk, just barely leaning on his cane. 

Then Laurent inclined his head. It was barely a nod, but from a royal, from a King, to a common thief and a Barrel boss, it was as good as a bow of gratitude. “Nevertheless, then. I owe you and Inej Ghafa a great debt.”

Kaz’ brows raised, eyes sharpening like a bloodhound sighting prey. “Careful the promises you make.”

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” Laurent said, almost insouciant except for the way his gaze remained steady and deliberate on Kaz. “What, do you need it in writing?”

Now Kaz seemed genuinely surprised, even intrigued. “No,” he said after a moment, and his gaze zeroed in on Nicaise’s hiding spot for just half a moment, before Laurent or Damianos could realize where his gaze led. “I think I’ll simply take your word for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (im chalking up my mistake last chapter of nicaise saying laurent and damen stayed at some random inn to his extremely veretian background where inn is a much more familiar word than hotel. dont get him wrong tho theyre definitely staying at the most expensive high-end place in ketterdam)
> 
> anyway heres for all u laurent fans!


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